


Tether

by ntkrrs



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, but it's gonna be heavily referenced, if i could tag anything in this fic it would be learning to love oneself, no one kills themselves here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntkrrs/pseuds/ntkrrs
Summary: Quil Ateara had the best intentions. Claire Young can't feel the same way.A story about the things we can't control and how they take their tolls on us. Mentions of depression, self-harm, and suicide.
Relationships: Quil Ateara V/Claire Young, but honestly Claire Young/herself
Kudos: 10





	Tether

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t read Twilight in a hot minute, but I’ve been going over some of my lore and read a ton of Quil/Claire fanfiction. I wasn’t thoroughly satisfied with the lot of them, but Broken by Alice laughed had an interesting take on the imprint mythos. It’s a WIP as of this writing, but honestly go read it anyway. It’s fantastic.
> 
> Some cautionary advice to all of you—I’m writing this fic to exorcise my own demons that have taken up residence in my mindspace that I haven’t fully dealt with in a healthy, productive way. So, take this as a formal warning: This fic WILL contain depression, feelings of low self-esteem, self-hate, and self-harm.
> 
> I do not own the rights to Twilight. And if you’re curious how Claire physically manifests herself in my mind, google Amber Midthunder.

At nineteen years old, Claire Young could safely say that she didn't know what life was like outside of La Push, the Makah reservation, and the road in between.

Some of her earliest memories were vivid recollections of being shuttled back and forth from either reservation, hour long trips that she grew to anticipate. At first, she'd get antsy, but she'd come to appreciate having practically grown up in two places almost at once—on one end, she had her bedroom, and on the other, a tribe of boys who treated her like a princess. Her mom would constantly call Emily to set up a pick up since Jacob had a car and they didn't, and her weekends would be full of towering, russet-skinned boys who liked to call her Claire Bear and made her squeal as they carried her on their backs.

They told her the legends when she was around eight—the perfect age, Quil had said. Most didn't agree, but he didn't care.

Quil was her bestest best friend ever in the whole world. A tall, playful boy who liked to pick her up and toss her around but give her the best, warmest hugs and loving cuddles. He joined every tea party, wore every tiara she ever gave him, and let her put makeup on him. He was the ultimate babysitter, letting her have pizza as soon as she finished just _half_ of her veggies (!) and letting her eat off his ice cream cone. He knew her best. Which is probably why he did it.

He told her bits and bits about the Quileute legends as she grew—men descending from wolves, Chief Taha Aki's story, vampires, and covens of them. Sam tried to stop him from unveiling the whole truth, but Quil hadn't relented.

In hindsight, they could probably all agree that it had been a good move on Quil's part. She was young enough to still think that her friends turning into what he called "werewolves" at the time (call any of them that now and they'd issue you the dourest look possible) was fascinating instead of terrifying, and old enough to know how to keep a secret. The piggyback rides morphed into wolfback rides through the forest. Sam had been forced to (begrudgingly) admit that, for all his supposed goofiness, Quil had _some_ shining moments of brilliance.

Claire didn't know it then, but thinking about it now, the grin that Quil had shot Sam was the biggest shit-eating grin she'd ever seen in her life.

She remembered that day clearly, because that was the day her dad moved to California with Colene.

The change had been stark, like flying through the air then slamming into a brick all. The Young household had been closed off to visitors as they sorted through their issues for the past few days—Claire would stay in Makah (although no one explained why), her father would take Colene and move to California, the house was her mother's. It was quick, and probably the cleanest break her mom could ask for, now that she thought about it.

But it didn't change that her parents were getting a divorce. So when her father left with Colene and Quil was finally allowed to step into their house, Claire launched herself at him and cried into his chest, sobbing about how her father didn't want her and he liked Colene more so he took her.

"Oh, sweetheart," Quil said, making himself comfortable by the door so he could cradle her and let her cry. She knew he would. He was Quil.

Quil, who held her hand when she had to get her flu shots, let her ride on his back on each and every birthday until she reached 16. Who knocked on her bathroom door with tampons and a tub of ice cream during her first period, who let her cry on his shoulder when her pet cat died even though he hated Mr. Buttons with a passion. Quil, who hollered and clapped the loudest when she bowed after her each and every musical performance she'd had. Who was even there at her doorstep with a corsage that matched her dress perfectly when she was ready to go out for her first high school dance, even if she said she was going stag.

He'd been there through everything.

Slowly but surely, their relationship changed, but into something different. Something stronger. And all at once, the realisation dawned on Claire. She loved him.

She really, truly did.

And then, when she was seventeen, he told her about imprinting.

* * *

Her stomach had curled out when he explained to her what it was.

"So… I'm your soulmate?"

The corner of Quil's mouth twitched as he looked up at her. "You could say that."

She looked down at their joined hands. They were sitting in her room with the door closed, and despite Quil sitting on the floor, his gigantic stature had him come level with her chest even if she was fully seated on her bed.

"So," she started, "Me going back and forth from the Makah rez to La Push…? Was it to get us to be together?"

"Not always," Quil explained, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"How does it work? Imprinting."

He sighed. "We're not sure either."

"What do you mean?"

"It…" He shrugged. "It just happens. It's hard to explain."

Claire gave him a half smile. She had to remind herself that this was Quil and he didn't know all the answers, not like she thought he did. "What does it feel like?"

Quil had pressed his lips together. "It feels…"

He'd shaken his head. "Imprinting just… happens. When we see the person we'll imprint on, it's… I don't want to call it magic, but it is. Things just change. Everything becomes unimportant, except for that one single person. And for me, that was you." He'd grinned, a little lamely. "Imprinting becomes… it's the inevitability of being close to them is just always there. It feels good. Better. To be near whoever you imprinted."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Quil had chuckled. "I'm kinda lucky that I got to imprint on you. You're an amazing girl and you're such a wonderful person. It's been a privilege watching you grow up."

Heat had filled her cheeks. "I—" She'd blinked. "Wait, being around… so Jared and Kim are imprinted? So are Emily and Sam?" She'd gasped. "Is that the reason why Paul is so scared of Jake?"

Quil had snorted. "Yeah. Hey, that's the reason for the Great Whooping of Paul Lahote! Now you know."

"I always wondered why that happened," she'd said with a pout, "I was so annoyed that no one would explain it to me!"

He'd chuckled at her petulance. "Well, it wasn't the time." He'd tugged on her hands to kiss her knuckles and, as if coming to, looked at her sheepishly. "Sorry. I've only just explained it to you and I'm already taking a lot of liberties with this."

"I don't—" She'd blushed, hard.

He let go of her hands. Getting off the floor, he sat next to her and kissed her hair. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Yeah." She mulled over her next question. "When'd you know?"

"Huh?"

"Like, when'd you imprint on me?"

Embarrassment filled his face. "Oh. Uh… when you were young."

"Like how young?"

"Like really young."

"Like what?" she pressed, "Like ten?"

"Like the moment I met you."

Claire tried to sift through her memories. "Like nine?"

"Like two."

She froze.

"But I never thought of you a certain way," Quil rushed to explain, thinking that her stillness was from the weirdness of thinking a two-year-old being your soulmate. "It was just… a connection, me being close to you. To protect you, be your friend. But that was all."

"Oh."

In not so many words, Claire had heard the message loud and clear: He'd stuck around because of his imprint on her.

She had cried herself to sleep that night, and a cloud of sadness had settled over her.

* * *

In the two years that followed, Quil frequently insisted that they never had to be anything more. Imprinting didn't mean getting married, unlike the majority of those who imprinted around them. "It's all about us, Claire," he'd said gently, "We don't have to do anything that we're not ready for."

She'd read between the lines. _I don't want you_. _This was out of our control. It doesn't have to be anything more than it is._

But he also acted differently.

He held her hand more often, for some reason. He kept touching her—whether it be an arm slung over her shoulders, or more frequent hugs. It was always there. He looked at her like she was… she was… _small_ , like she was breakable. Like she was something he _had_ to protect.

The way he looked at her made her so _angry._

 _He doesn't_ love _you_ , a hateful voice in her head mocked her. _He only_ pities _you. He had no choice, imprinting on someone like_ you. _He's sticking around 'cause he feels_ bad _for you._

"Hey, Claire," Quil greeted with a kiss to her head as he walked into their living room. Of course, in true Quil fashion, he tousled her hair roughly.

" _Hey_!" She tried to duck out of his reach with a glare, looking up from the couch. "Stop that!"

Quil chuckled.

Claire huffed. "Did you wash your feet after your run?"

"And risk your mom smacking the living daylights out of me by tracking mud all over your living room? No thanks. I wore shoes."

She chuckled, ire forgotten, and bent her knees to her chest to make room for him when he dramatically yawned and stretched, plopping down on the couch.

"What are you watching?"

" _Golden Girls_. Hey!" Over the years of something she'd call 'blatant bullying' (but everyone else would call 'fun') Claire had honed her reflexes and mastered the art of moving faster than a shape-shifter. Otherwise known as kicking them to stay away from television remotes.

Quil huffed and grabbed his side. " _Ow_!"

" _Don't_ change the channel," Claire warned venomously, clutching the remote to her chest.

He made grabby hands for the remote. "I was gonna turn up the volume, you crazy nut. And I can't change the channel, you're watching from a hard drive."

She narrowed her eyes as she handed the remote over for Quil to turn up the volume. Before he could get past two bars, someone called from the kitchen. "Too loud!"

Quil scrambled for the remote in his shock. "Sorry, Eleanor!" He glared at Claire. "You didn't tell me your mom was in the kitchen!"

"What good are your wolf senses for if you can't smell out my mom less than ten feet away from you?" Claire shot back. "Give me that."

She snatched the remote from Quil's hand, but before she could take her hand back, he latched onto her wrist with a grin and kissed her fingertips.

It was a kind and sweet gesture, but she knew better. Years and years of this quiet affection that she'd silently understood was a sign of friendship and nothing else, even if she felt differently. She bit her lip and looked at her fingers, longer than she intended, it seemed, as the laughter from the TV from something Dorothy said was met with silence.

Quil looked at her with a tentative smile, worry evident in his features. "Claire?"

She blinked and shook her head. "Sorry, I was thinking."

"Of what?"

"Um," she stammered, "I think I have homework I haven't gotten to."

It was such a shitty excuse, and from the look on his face she could tell he was not convinced. But sweet, beautiful Quil took it with a smile. "Okay," he said. "I'll be heading out soon anyway."

"You just got here," Eleanor said she waltzed out from the kitchen. "At least stay for dinner."

He protested, "Oh, no, El, that—"

Eleanor Young was not amused. "I just put three full racks of ribs in the oven so if you're not going to eat it, I'm keeping one here and sending the other two Jacob's way."

"—sounds _perfectly_ _amazing_!" Quil gushed, shooting up and dancing around the couch to give her a bear hug. "Why, I would _love_ to stay for dinner!"

Claire snorted. "You're so lame."

Quil stuck his tongue out at her as he hugged Eleanor. She pinched his side and slipped out of his embrace and back into the kitchen.

" _Ow_!" Quil yelped. Why do the women in the Young household like to _hurt_ me!"

"Stop whining," Claire said flatly.

He sniffled dramatically. "I guess I'll—"

"LOOK OUT!"

At that precise moment, a stack of books started raining on Quil. He shrieked and ran out of the line of fire.

Claire glared at a space above the stairwell. " _What the heck, Colene!_ "

"Too _loud_!" Eleanor berated from the kitchen.

" _Quil_!" Colene apologized, rushing down the stairs, completely ignoring everyone else except Quil. "Sorry sorry sorry! I was cleaning out my room and didn't realise—Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Colene had been in Washington for two weeks by then, and would stay for another two. Since their father was on a business trip that was planned to last for a month and Colene had to move out of her dorm for the term break, she'd decided to come to La Push.

Claire _hated_ her here.

"I think I'm okay," Quil said, inspecting his arms. "I think I got a paper cut but it's healing."

" _What_?" Colene fretted. "Oh my gosh, I'm so _sorry_ , Quil—"

"Colene, calm down. He'll live," Claire said irritably.

Colene ignored her. "I'll go get a plaster—"

"Hey, hey, I'm fine. I heal fast, remember?" Quil winked at her and flashed her a winning smile.

Claire stared at her sister as she flushed at Quil's charm. _They'd make a much better couple_ , she thought, unbidden, _He deserves someone as pretty as Colene._

Colene. _College_ -educated Colene, closer to Quil's age Colene. Colene who'd come home from university in California looking tanner and more radiant than ever Colene. Colene, who'd bragged about how she got men to basically follow her around like puppies Colene. Skinny, gorgeous Colene, who liked to wear tiny tank tops shorts and was half of Claire's size Colene.

The only thing she had over Colene was that Colene knew nothing about the history of the pack. But seeing as Claire was imprinted on, it was more than likely that they _had_ to tell her eventually.

Her heart lurched.

She pressed her lips together and tried to hide her face so her tears would go unnoticed.

It was always like this. Small, tiny, insignificant Claire would get the teases and the jokes and the noogies while Colene got the smiles and the winks and the husky chuckles. _He'd much rather have her_ , Claire thought desolately, inconspicuously wiping at her cheeks with a finger. _Everyone would much rather have her._

And Quil, even if he was _Claire_ ' _s_ best friend, was no exception.

* * *

The first time she attempted it, Quil was enraged.

They'd gone on their usual hikes, and they reached the cliff overlooking the La Push beaches. The sky was a vast expanse of grey, and the winds whipped at her jacket. Her hair, braided back, danced along.

"I love it here," Claire whispered.

"Me too," Quil said behind her, and she was surprised he even heard her, but maybe that was the shape-shifting powers.

They were a few feet from the ledge, so she crept closer.

"Claire," Quil warned.

"I'm just…" Claire mumbled, "checking…"

The cloud of sadness never left her, ever since the day Quil explained what imprinting was. Normally Claire was happy and cheerful, genuinely satisfied with life. Now it felt… forced. She smiled and laughed but the second closed her bedroom door to escape the world she would sleep for at least half a day, maybe more. She just wanted to… to go away.

The cliff was tempting her.

She stepped forward, and forward, and forward, until she could see the waves that angrily crashed at the rocks below her. One fall. One fall, and she would…

She would…

 _It was just… a connection, me being close to you_ , Quil's voice reverberated in her head, _To protect you, be your friend. But that was all._

_That was all._

Closer.

 _Just go away_.

Her heart pounded as she crept closer, and closer, a little more, a little—

" _Claire_!" Quil yelled, snatching her back to safety by grabbing the hood of her jacket. " _Are you crazy?!"_

Her heart pumped in her ears, the close proximity making her warm and dizzy. "Quil, I—"

" _Don't_ do _that!_ " he roared, clutching her shoulders. " _Your mom would_ kill me _if anything happened to you!_ "

As if the wind whipped a chill into her, she froze. "I'm sorry," she whispered, terrified of him for the first time. "Quil, I'm sorry—"

He pressed his lips together and glared at her, keeping his grip on her wrist as he dragged her back to the car. What was once a relished feeling of warmth became a hot sting of embarrassment.

"Can you not be fucking _stupid_ , Claire?" Quil said, not even looking at her.

"I'm sorry," Claire whimpered. "I'm _sorry_."

Quil tightly gripped the steering wheel and didn't look at her the whole way home.

Similar situations littered the years between them. Sometimes she would be absolutely miserable, others angry and fuming. But she never brought up the imprint. Never. It wasn't his fault he imprinted on her.

It was her fault she wasn't worthy of it.

* * *

She managed to reach some sort of stability with Quil—they'd grown apart, understandably. No one would stick around if they had to deal with a bitch constantly.

 _But_ he _imprinted on_ me, Claire would think, over and over again, anger flooding her veins. _He should've chosen better. Better than_ me _._

She'd replay those thoughts time and again. She tilted her head up at the shower, letting the warm water hit her face, as if it could wash away whatever she was feeling. She sighed and turned the water off. She'd feel crummy for the rest of the day, she could already tell.

"Could you _hurry up_?!" A muffled shriek came from behind the closed door.

"Hold on!" Claire said, her voice garbled from brushing her teeth. She spat out the foam and secured her towel around herself. She flung open the door and glared at her sister. " _There_. God, you're such a fucking diva."

"Whatever," Colene said with a roll of her eyes. Claire ignored the way her sister slammed the door behind her and made for her room, finding the comfiest attire she could huddle into so she could marathon another season of _Golden Girls_ in the living room. Quil said he wasn't free, so since she was deprived of her personal space heater, she settled into an oversized pair of sweatpants and a turtleneck shirt.

She'd pulled out the popcorn she let pop in the microwave before her shower and settled into her spot on the couch when the doorbell rang. Claire ignored it and grabbed for the remote.

It rang again.

" _Can you fucking get the door?!"_ shrieked Colene from upstairs.

"Ugh," Claire groaned, petulantly slamming her popcorn bowl on the wooden coffee table and stalked to the door.

To her surprise, it was Quil.

Quil in a… was that a _button-down_? She didn't even know he _owned_ button-downs.

She blinked. "Quil?"

Quil beamed. "Hey, Claire. You look good today." He reached forward and tugged on the gold necklace with a bear charm on it, a gift from him on her sixth birthday. "You ready?"

Her brow furrowed. "Huh? Ready? For what?" She shook her head. "What are you doing here? I thought you were doing something."

"I—"

"Great, you're here!" Colene said, bounding down the stairs in a slinky black dress that hugged her body in places Claire couldn't even imagine showing off. "Let's go!"

"Hey, Col," Quil said, his brow mirroring Claire's. "Um, did you tell Cl—"

"No time," Colene huffed, grabbing Quil's arm and tugging him to follow her. For all his shape-shifting powers, he sure couldn't pull away from a hundred twenty pound 22-year-old.

"Uh," Claire said, confused. "Bye?"

Hours later, Claire looked from her spot at the kitchen table as Colene stepped back into the house with a big beam on her face. Quil followed quickly after, eyes searching.

Eleanor, who'd just arrived, turned to smile at them. "Hi, Colene, hi, Quil. Where'd you two go?"

"Quil and I had lunch," Colene answered with a huge, victorious smile.

Eleanor blinked. "Oh." She glanced back at Claire. "You didn't go, honey?"

Claire couldn't think of anything to answer.

"Claire," Quil blurted when he finally set his sights on the younger girl. "Hey! I missed you today!"

"Um," Claire said, looking back and forth between her older sister and her best friend. "Hi."

"I—" Quil started, when he stilled. Suddenly, he reached for Colene's shoulder and held her close. "Stay inside."

Colene looked up at him. "What—"

Claire stood up and bolted all the locks and shut the windows nearest her. "Go upstairs, Mom," she instructed, used to Quil on Guardian of La Push mode.

Eleanor nodded and collected Colene as Claire jogged over to the living room.

"Quil—" Colene said, still looking up at him. Eleanor pulled her away and brought her upstairs, mumbling something about 'hooligans getting loose'. Claire held in a snort.

When her mom and sister were upstairs, she peeked out the windows, feeling Quil stand behind her. "I don't see anything."

"Can't be too sure," he grunted. "I gotta go." He reached over and tugged at her hair, a gesture he liked to do ever since she was five and decided she wanted ass-long hair.

She _hated_ when he did that.

"Take care okay?" he muttered, deep and… and…

"Okay," Claire said, ignoring the way he said it, moving to lock the living room windows. When Quil stepped out on the porch, she said, "I hope you and Colene had fun today." Before he could turn, she locked the door behind him.

She'd always thought he deserved better, and he should realise that she was just some shitty bitch who didn't deserve him. He'd get over her. She would be fine. As long as Quil was happy.

She didn't realise how much it would hurt when it got down to it.

* * *

The Saturday cookout ended two hours ago. Claire sighed and rubbed her eyes. She should say goodbye.

She was hiding away in the guest bedroom under the guise of having a headache, but truth be told, ever since Colene and Quil's "date" (that Colene wouldn't shut up about) a week ago, she just wanted to avoid both of them. Emily was gracious enough to offer and prep the room for her in case she wasn't feeling too well and wanted to sleepover.

It's not as if she was a stranger to weekend sleepovers at the Uley residence. In fact, she loved it. This was a home to her, where she grew up and made friends and made a family.

Her heart hurt when she realised that this would be the house she'd… She shook her head and sighed. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

She headed downstairs and smiled at the only person left in the kitchen, even if she was a little confused. "Hey, Emily. Where's everyone?"

"They just left," Emily said as she put cutlery away. "Had to run. They'll be back tomorrow, sweetheart."

 _Left?_ She pressed her lips together. _No one said anything about leaving._ "Where's Quil?"

"Oh, he brought your sister home."

"Did… did he say anything about coming back?"

Emily shook her head. "Not that I recall."

Claire's heart dropped and heat filled her eyes. "Oh."

Emily paused and turned to Claire, curious. "Is everything alright, Claire?"

"Huh?" Claire shook her head and gave her aunt a tight smile. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"How's your head?"

"My what? Oh, right. I'm feeling… better. Just tired, I guess."

Emily smiled sympathetically. "Alright, honey. Go ahead and get ready for bed."

"You don't need any help here?"

"I'm okay, just go get some rest," Emily bid with a smile.

"Okay," Claire said with a smile that was so visibly fake that it made the older woman falter. Before any more could be asked, Claire waited for Emily's back to be turned before she pilfered a knife that had yet to be put away and escaped to her room.

* * *

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, the blade glinted back at her.

Her eyes pricked with heat. "I can do this," she whispered, fingering the side of the knife. Slowly, her resolve started crumbling. "I can do this," she hiccuped, her grip tightening.

A small sob escaped her throat, and she bit her lip. She couldn't help the tears that trailed down her cheeks, or the sniffles that escaped.

"Things would be better off without you, Claire," she told herself, lifting the knife and slowly pressing it to her wrist. "They left you anyway. This way, no one would be forced to be with you. They can be happy. Quil can choose who to love. Quil can be happy." She sobbed. "He'll finally be _happy_."

Her hand shook.

"Think of Quil," she whispered desperately. "Give him the choice, Claire. Make him _happy_!"

"Claire?" That was Sam.

Terror flooded Claire when she realised she didn't lock the door.

"Claire, I'm coming in," he said gruffly.

"Wait," she said, voice hoarse, frozen in place.

She could imagine what she looked like. Red-faced and puffy-eyed, probably deranged, huddled by the foot of her bed with a knife in her shaking grip.

To his credit, Sam's composure never left him. He closed the door behind him as soon as he entered and crouched next to her, tugging the knife from her grip. "Claire, please let go," he said softly, gently prying her fingers from the knife. "Please." He gently kept her back when she made a pathetic attempt for it again.

"No, wait," she said lamely, staring after him as he walked out of her room.

When he left her door frame, Quil was standing there outside her room.

"Claire," he whispered, pale.

She scrambled to shut the door, sobbing in relief when she made it in time before Quil slipped in. It was pathetic, she knew—he could break down the door if he wanted to—but she just needed to save her one last shred of dignity.

She slid down to the floor and sobbed.

* * *

"Em, please," Quil begged. She could hear his voice as it carried through the kitchen.

"She just needs to go home, Quil," her aunt said gently, "I don't think Claire will be comfortable sleeping in anything other than her own bed. I've called, El—"

Quil cut her off. "Em, please, I need to talk to her, you don't _understand_ , when she—I felt—I was—"

Claire shut her eyes in an attempt to ward off his voice. Sam gently led her down the stairs and opened the door so she could step out into the porch.

She didn't even notice her sister glaring at her from beside the door, arms crossed and livid. She was probably planning to... make out with Quil, or something, as much as it pained Claire to admit. Maybe Colene would just glare at her all the way home. She could ignore that.

But that was too good a thing to happen to her.

"Why do you have to be such a drama queen?" her sister spat with venom.

" _Colene_!" Sam growled.

Claire's stomach dropped and heat pricked the back of her eyes. "I—"

"Why do you always have to be such an attention whore?" Colene hissed further.

"COLENE!" Sam snapped.

He whirled on Colene, ready to say something, but Claire didn't want to stick around to find out what would happen. Before she could hear anything else, Claire bolted from Sam's side and ran into the woods.

"Claire!" she heard someone cry behind her, but she ignored it and ran.

" _Claire!"_ She ran and ran and ran, through the trees and shrubbery, through her blurred, wet vision.

 _"CLAIRE!_ " She ran and ran and ran until she couldn't hear anymore.

* * *

"Claire," someone breathed behind her, full of relief.

 _Quil_.

She brought her legs to her chest and pressed her forehead to her knees. She'd been hoping against hope that no one would find her, much less the main cause of her problem. That she could sit here by the curve of the Quillayute River amidst the dense trees and she would be forgotten. Can imprints just be forgotten? How did they work?

She didn't acknowledge him. She felt him settle next to her on the bank.

He didn't say anything for a while, and for a moment she was happy that he was quiet. But she'd much prefer it if she were alone.

"Claire, I…" he began, voice strained, "I'm not going to pretend that—that—" She could hear him swallow. "If you don't want to talk, I get it. I just… Claire, you _scared_ me. Why would you do that?"

She didn't answer.

" _Why_ would you do that? Why would you—you'd kill yourself? Really? _Why_?" His tone escalated, slowly growing from desperate to agitated to downright angry. " _We're_ here, your _family_ is here! _I'm_ here! Why would you even—How could you—How could you even think of doing that?! Why would you even _think_ of _—_ of—of—"

Claire shut her eyes and huddled closer into herself.

" _Claire!_ " Quil was bellowing now, or it seemed like that to her. "We're right here! You can talk to us! You can talk to _me_! I'm always here for you, I'll _always_ be here for you! You can tell me anything. Anything! Anything but—but what you just did! How could— _How could you be so stupid_?!"

That did it.

Claire snapped up and glared at Quil through her tears. "Right," she drawled sarcastically, "I'm stupid. I'm so fucking stupid, right, Quil? So dumb to not even think of talking to any of you." Her blood boiled, and she continued to spit venom. "I'm basically a _child_. I'm someone who always needs _your fucking help_. Poor Claire, can't think for her _God damn self_.

"Too bad you got stuck with me, huh? Stupid Claire and her stupid, pathetic _suicidal_ tendencies. _Too bad_ you have to fucking babysit me, stop me from running off cliffs and stabbing herself with a knife." She got to her feet and stared Quil down. "You may be around, Quil Ateara, but you sure as fucking hell don't know what I'm going through. So _piss. Off_."

Her hands were shaking and her breath came out in harsh shudders. "Take your imprint and fuck someone else over with it. I'm _done_."

Something akin to devastation clouded over his face, but before she could get a good look, Claire stormed off.

"Claire—" he began.

" _LEAVE ME ALONE!_ " she shrieked, hurrying away. Her voice was so loud she surprised even herself. " _Leave me the_ fuck _alone, Quil Ateara! GET LOST!"_

She wanted to think otherwise, but she knew she didn't stand a chance of running from someone who shifted into a wolf for a side job. Quil bounded over to cut her off, and she stayed in place. She glared at his muddy feet so she wouldn't have to look at his face.

"What the _fuck_ , Claire?" Quil growled from above her. "Is this what this is all about? Me imprinting on you?"

She didn't respond, keeping her gaze on his toes.

"Claire, I didn't have a choice! You _know_ I didn't have a choice! I—"

"Wouldn't life be so much better if you had?" she snarled, the nastiest, most vile thoughts finally simmering to the surface. "Wouldn't it be better if _everyone_ had that choice? I'm trying to make that choice for you, Quil! For everyone! You don't need me!"

" _I NEED YOU_!" Quil roared, so loud that it startled her. " _I_ need you, Claire! What the fuck are you talking about?! The second you—you—" His voice cracked, the dip in his words a heart-wrenching sound that prompted a fresh wave of tears from Claire. "Don't you understand?" he begged, getting on his knees to look up at her. He caught her gaze, and it made her heart stop. He was _crying_.

Quil never, _ever_ cried.

"Claire, please," he begged, latching on to her forearms and looking up at her, "Claire, the second something happens to you, I won't be able to _breathe_. I won't—I won't—" He hiccuped, "The world will go dark and nothing will make sense. I'm not—I'm not going to last without you," he whispered. " _Please_ stay, Claire. _Please_."

"You'll get over me," she mumbled, a little pathetically.

" _You don't know that!_ " he hissed, tears continuing their steady _drip, drip, drip_ down his cheeks. "I'd die before that ever happened. I won't survive, Claire. I won't survive if you leave me. I _won't_."

Claire shook her heard. "You'll be fine, Quil. The imprint—"

" _Fuck_ _the imprint_!" he cried. "You're my best friend. You're my _best_ _friend_ , the only person in my life who matters more to me than—than—than— _fuck_ , Claire! I've loved you for _so long_ ," his voice broke, "I've loved you since the second I laid my eyes on you. And okay, fine, yes, the imprint did _that_ , but _this—_ " he gestured between them, "This is us. This now? This is something we _built_. Claire, _please._ "

"Quil," she whispered.

"Claire, I—" Hands drifted down and held her hands, so small compared to his. He brought them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I love you."

She hiccuped through her tears.

His grip on her hands tightened, and with resolve, he said, "The second you die, Claire, I'm coming right after you."

Her heart leapt to her throat. " _Quil_ —"

"I'm not going to survive without you, Claire," he whimpered, pressing his forehead to her hands. His shoulder shook as he tried to hold in his sobs. "I'm not. I _can't_. I _don't want to_."

"Quil," Claire sobbed, "Stop."

"I—I—" He broke down then, a whimpering mess, clutching her hands. His cries were loud, pained, pathetic, _terrible._ Claire's heart ached.

" _I love you_ ," he said in between sobs, " _Please don't leave me._ "

Clair closed her eyes and let her tears fall, listening to howls of a wounded wolf as it rang through the night sky.

* * *

Eleanor found them.

Claire didn't know how long, but their sobs had died down to sniffles, but Quil stayed on his knees.

Without a word, she draped a thick blanket over her shivering, miserable daughter. Turning a teary, sympathetic eye at the shapeshifter, she kissed his forehead and tugged him up to stand.

When he wouldn't move, Jacob appeared out of nowhere and pulled him up.

It took a great deal of effort for Quil to straighten, his knees indented with rocks and dripping with blood.

Claire looked at anything but him and let her mother lead her away.

She didn't hear what the boys talked about, but she could hear Quil start to cry again. So she did, too.

* * *

The longest time she spent away from the La Push was two weeks, when she had to stay over at Shelby Mulkey's house in third grade to finish a styrofoam model of the solar system because they both were busy with after-school activities and the weekend was their only free time. When she returned to La Push the following weekend, the boys had practically harassed her into spending time with them, saying how much they missed her.

She was pushing a month this time around, and she didn't think they'd tell her how much they missed her.

Her chest felt heavy and she curled unto herself, her back against the wall and her arms around her knees. She reeled in a sob and looked out her window into the rainy morning sky.

She hadn't budged from the second floor of her house in almost a month.

Since That Day, Colene had mostly left Claire alone, by no small effort from Claire, who practically had made it a point to avoid her sister. She'd mostly succeeded, except for that one interaction that occurred when they passed each other on Claire's way to the bathroom.

Colene had grabbed Claire's wrist. "Claire," she said.

Claire looked at her sister's sincere face and said nothing.

"Claire, I'm—" Colene struggled. "I didn't… I didn't know."

"Know what?"

"About… About you. And how you were…"

"Didn't think you cared."

Colene ignored that. "And you and… and Quil. I didn't know."

Claire felt her stomach go ice cold for all of half a second before a simmering rage engulfed her chest. "Liar," she spat in response, and snatched her hand away.

"I didn't know it was _serious_ ," Colene implored desperately. "He kept flirting with you ever since I got here, but you never said _anything_ —"

Something snapped inside Claire. "Fuck off, Col."

"Claire," her sister insisted, "I'm trying to—to—"

"What? Apologize?" Claire scoffed.

Colene seemed to harden. "You know what, fuck you. I'm _trying_ to apologize, I've been talking to Quil and trying to get him to come over to fix this—"

"Well, there is no _this_ ," Claire seethed, coming closer and standing toe to toe with her sister. The rage inside her threatened to spill through her hands, so she clenched her fists and grit out, "Quil and I are done, and there's nothing you can do, so go _suck his dick for all I care_. I'm _done_." With one last glare, she turned and marched off. She slammed the bathroom door behind her without even turning to look at her sister.

If Claire was being honest, it wasn't fair to Colene. It wasn't fair to let her have the brunt of her anger and pain, but it felt so _good_ to have someone else to blame. Someone to take the heat, someone to feel the pain.

Someone who wasn't herself.

A week after the bathroom incident, the next time she saw Colene was when she was standing by the door with her suitcases, and Claire looked down at her from the top of the stairs.

"Bye, Claire," Colene had called, softly, looking up at her sister.

Claire had said nothing.

"Claire," her mother had called, looking up at her. "Say goodbye to your sister."

She thought for a moment. "Good riddance," she spat, and went back into her room.

When she got back into her room, Claire locked the door and cried about how much of a horrible sister she was.

* * *

"Claire Bear?"

She looked up from the book she was reading, or more accurately, staring at the pages of. She blinked. " _Embry_?"

The tall, russet-skinned man with a boyish grin waved. "Hi. Your mom let me up. Can I come in?"

Claire blinked. She must've been quiet, because Embry waved a bag of food from the doorway expectantly. "Oh, sorry, yeah—come in."

Embry shut the door behind him and settled at the foot of her bed, offering her the takeaway carton of coffee with two cups perched on the holders. "Thought you might want some."

The corner of Claire's mouth twitched as she reached for a cup, letting the warmth coat her fingers. "You brought me Subway _and_ Mocha Motion? It's only 10AM. Where'd you find the time?"

"I came from shift," Embry shrugged, practically tearing into a large Subway paper bag and pulling out two footlong sandwiches, before reaching back in and pulling out a smaller, 6-inch sandwich. "Here you go."

"Why do you have two sandwiches?" Claire smiled, accepting it gratefully.

"Because I'm hungry," he responded petulantly, hugging his sandwiches to his chest.

They ate in silence, Claire relishing each sip of her Mexican mocha and kicking off the sheets when she remembered that Embry was a walking space heater.

It was like Embry—who finished his sandwiches ( _and_ cookies, apparently) way before her—waited for her to finish her food and coffee before he spoke, most likely so she wouldn't choke and would have to respond. "I miss you, Claire."

She said nothing, looking down at her lap.

"I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're going through," he continued softly, cleaning up her bed and setting the trash on the floor next to his feet. "And I won't force you to leave your room, or make you go anywhere. But I… I miss you; I miss seeing you and joking around with you and talking to you and I even miss when you scam me out of twenty dollars during poker because you totally sweet talk me into coughing up more cash when you know you have a strong hand."

Claire gave a wet laugh.

Embry inched closer. "Not seeing you has been tough on all of us, not just Quil. We miss having you around. I'll drop by every week with Mocha Motion if it means getting to see you. Jake and Seth are planning to get McDonald's all the way from Port Angeles to have an excuse to see you, and you know sitting in Jake's truck for an hour smelling all that food _will_ drive them insane."

She sniffled, willing herself to laugh but being unable to. Instead, she let him take her hand.

He continued, "Sam and Emily are coming by, too. The whole pack is planning it, actually. I came first because…" He shrugged. "I guess I wanted to talk to you, just you and me. I… Claire, I just wanted you to know that I love you, okay? No matter what. And if you need to talk to anyone, just… you can talk to me, okay?"

" _Embry_ ," Claire breathed, feeling her eyes water.

"You're part of the pack, Claire Bear," he muttered earnestly, reaching out to brush a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and tilting her chin up to look him in the eye. His gaze was warm and caring and it made her heart lurch. "Maybe we can't read your mind, or you can't shapeshift, but that's beside the point. You're always gonna be part of the pack. You always have been. Don't let anyone, not even that mean voice inside your head, tell you otherwise."

She sobbed and leaned into his embrace, letting his warmth comfort her as she cried.

* * *

_**To be continued.** _

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued.
> 
> A lot of these feelings were emotions I had to work through during my own (ongoing) bouts of self-hatred, depression, and suicidal tendencies—so it's safe to say I quite literally poured my heart out on this. The characters embody different voices that surround me, whether real people or otherwise. I hope everyone who reads this finds the help they need, or if you have someone in your life experiencing depression or suicide ideation, I hope I manage to impart some wisdom on how to comfort someone who's experiencing it. (And no, how Quil handled it is Not It.)
> 
> It may seem ridiculous to some, but someone who is experiencing depression and self-hatred has thoughts that are so clouded in sadness and rooted in self-judgment that to someone who is fully functioning, it may not make sense. It's not supposed to.
> 
> My own journey isn't finished, so I don't know when I'll be updating this fic. Maybe in a month or two, or a year or five. Only time will tell. But hopefully I'll be in a better place then.
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe.


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